


The Motherfucking Sun

by missbenzedrine



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bad language? I suppose, Fluff, M/M, Some blatant innuendo, beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbenzedrine/pseuds/missbenzedrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank takes Gerard to the beach, and Gerard doesn't like it. Not one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Motherfucking Sun

The motherfucking sun is touching me _everywhere._ I can feel its goddamn death rays on every square inch of my body.

I did this to myself really. I didn’t have to say yes. I’m crazy to have said yes. Who says yes to being thrown into a goddamn torture toaster for a whole day? Crazy people that’s who.

There are people _everywhere._ People and their little kids, sitting in the sand, getting sand god only knows where. What’s the appeal of sand to children anyways? It’s either burning hot and unforgiving, or goopy wet and unforgiving. Either way, not my cup of tea.

I sit back down in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and pouting.

“Gee, babe, you’re still wearing that goddamn t-shirt. It’s boiling hot out here.”

And there he is. The motherfucker who brought me to this hell hole to begin with. He’s standing there, beside me, his slightly tanned skin shimmering with the sun tan lotion he’s rubbing on. I refuse to give in though. I’m keeping this shirt on if it’s the last thing I do. Rock solid resolve is what I pride myself on.

It’s not even a matter of being _embarrassed_ or whatever the fuck other reason someone might assume. It’s just that I, Gerard Way, am the palest son of a bitch you will ever meet. And I have experienced killer sunburn and it sucks balls. So no thank you. I will not willingly put myself into that situation.

Even with his puppy eyes boring into me.

The same puppy eyes that got me here to begin with.

Those golden brown-flecked gorgeous motherfucking eyes may be the only the chisel to my rock solid resolve, but not this time. Nope.

Then he’s grabbing my hands, pulling me up out of the chair despite my protests, placing a feather light kiss on my jaw. “I need you to get my back,” he says so innocently I almost believe that’s his only goal.

I stare down at the sunscreen tube that has magically appeared in my hand and pop open the top. I have no qualms with this. Rubbing sunscreen on my boyfriend’s back never made the list of _things Gerard won’t do_ and for good reason.

I half expected him to buy the spray on kind, just for convenience’s sake, but obviously he had other things on his mind. I pop open the top and squeeze a generous glob of the white goo onto my fingers just as he turns around in front of me. I start up at the top of his neck, working my fingers down over his ‘Keep the Faith’ tattoo and the jack-o-lantern.

“Make sure you get my tattoos really well, Gee,” he says, like I don’t know.

“I know, Frankie.”

“They’ll fade if you—“

“Baby, I know.”

“Okay.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

I rub the lotion over his shoulders, the sides of his neck, making him shiver and giggle. There’s a light sprinkling of freckles on the top of his shoulders and I just can’t resist leaning down and kissing over them.

I focus on the tattoos more than anything, taking any excess lotion and rubbing it into the dark lines, watching as it disappears against his skin. He isn’t that much more tan than I am, really. But it’s enough to count for something at least. My hands travel down farther, having to get more sunscreen every once in a while. It’s possible that I’m going overboard. He probably doesn’t need as much as I’m applying, but his skin is so soft, so smooth under my fingertips which suddenly feel about as rough as sandpaper, that I don’t want to stop. The curves of his sides and the way his back dips in just slightly above his hips. None of it is anything I’m not familiar with, but I doubt it will ever lose that initial novelty for me.

I get to the ‘Search and Destroy’ and those goddamn guns that I love so much and smirk. I trace the letters carefully with my fingers, the intricate designs. All of Frankie’s tattoos are beautiful, really. But I really love the guns. Maybe because they dip lower than the public eye can see. But I’m not the public eye. I slip my fingers down under the waist band of Frank’s trunks, pulling them down an inch or so and he gasps. The skin is exceptionally pale there, curving just over his ass. I rub the lotion in there slowly, just in case the trunks slip down, you know. Don’t wanna take any risks. He doesn’t protest the whole time though, and that makes me smile even wider.

I pull his trunks back up, and lean in against him, my arms wrapping around his waist easily. He leans back against me, his warm back against the fabric of my shirt. We could have done this at home. At home, I could kiss him until my lips hurt. We could do more than that.

God damn this beach.

“If we go home now, I could ravish you on the kitchen table,” I said lowly in Frank’s ear. Frank was one for unconventional sex, so maybe that would work.

Frank laughs and soon he turns around in my arms, wrapping his own around my neck. “Maybe later.”

The frown that I try to hide apparently peeks through, because Frank seems determined to kiss it away. He arches up pressing our lips together and I can’t help but give in. He tastes nice, familiar. Like cigarettes and salt. The salt is new though.

I get caught up in the kiss, warm and wet and fucking perfect even in the heat of the sun, and don’t even notice he’s pushing my shirt up until he has it halfway up my chest. I stop, push it back down and glare. “No,” is all I say.

Frank puts that pout on again, his fingers still resting lightly on my sides, tracing random patterns on my skin under the shirt. “But…why not?”

I roll my eyes. “Because I will fry to a crisp and you know that.”

“I can put sunscreen on you. As much as you want…you’ll be fine, I promise.”

Fucking puppy eyes.

I sigh and Frank giggles happily, pulling the t-shirt up over my head and throwing it with the rest of our stuff. I think briefly that I’m probably blinding the nice, completely average looking family beside us with my stark white skin. They can blame Frank.

Frank’s hands are on my chest within seconds. It feels nice and I close my eyes, just listening to the waves and letting Frank work his magic fucking hands. Guitarist’s hands are the shit. Anyone who wants to argue with that can come to me.

He certainly doesn’t take his time, moving on to my back quickly. Before I even realize it, he’s done, and his hands are no longer there. I groan in protest. When I open my eyes, the bright white of the sun floods my vision and blinds me for a second or two.

“I still hate you.”

I don’t think Frank’s smile could be bigger if he tried. “Love you too, honey. C’mon.” He grabs my wrist and suddenly I’m being hauled toward the ocean. Fuck.

Oceans are pretty. I’ll give you that. They’re gorgeous and the sound of the waves hitting the shore is pretty fucking awesome. What isn’t awesome is almost drowning because you get knocked over by a wave you didn’t even know was coming until it’s on top of you.

Oceans are nice _from a distance._

But Frank isn’t _that_ guy. And apparently he doesn’t think I am either.

Also, I am almost positive there’s a rule about waiting like fifteen minutes to get in water after applying sunscreen, or it washes away. Well yeah, I don’t realize that until I’m already submerged up to my neck being beaten by salty waves. Fuck this shit.

Frank is laughing like a maniac. I tackle him into the waves, holding tight onto his hips as we push back into the water. When we come up for air, we both stare at each other for a second. He breaks first, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. It doesn’t take me long to follow though—boyfriends must have this secret power over you. Then we’re both laughing giddily as he pushes me back down into the water, his arms around my neck, attempting to find my lips which proves a nearly impossible task.

When I can see those gold-flecked eyes again, I smile and the corners of his eyes scrunch up as his expression mirrors my own. Then we’re both down and very, very out as a surprise wave comes out of nowhere, knocking us back to shore in a wet salty whirlwind of torturous tossing and turning.

I crawl helplessly onto the sand, the salt stinging in my eyes and the sand stuck unbidden in every crevice of my body. I fall onto my back and when I hear a familiar cough, I turn my face to see Frank crawling onto the shore as well. “That’s what you get, asshole!” I call at him, my voice raspy as I roll to face him. He just looks at me and gives me one of those heart-warming, heart-breaking smiles that he _knows_ I can’t resist, before running at me and locking my arms above my head and my lips in a kiss.

* * *

“Ow. Ow, ow,  _ouch!_ Frank Iero, that fucking hurts,” I whine, my voice hitting a pitch I’ve never even heard before. My shirt is only half-off by this point. It’s a slow process.

Frank sighs, inching the shirt further over my head. “Stop wiggling and it won’t hurt so much.” Sounds like such an easy thing to do, huh? Well. Not when your entire fucking back is burning like the sun. Speaking of the sun, have I mentioned how much I hate it?

I sigh in relief as Frank’s fingers finally touch the aloe to my back, the coolness immediately providing the aid it was designed for. “Can you just do that all day?” I ask blissfully, arching back into his touch.

“You’re such a cry baby. I had sunburn worse than this when I was five,” Frank said; the eye roll is actually an audible thing.

“Shut up. This is your fault.”

He turns me around, his hands gentle on my skin in contrast to the harshness of his words. He kisses me and softly caresses my sunburnt cheek. “I’m not the one who wanted to stay for five hours.”

I shrug and wince from the movement. “It was fun.”

“Loser,” comes his loving response.


End file.
